


Keepsake

by dweeblet



Category: Warframe
Genre: Action, Bad Writing, Far Future, Fluff, Gen, I'm Bad At Titles, Ignores Lore, Infested, Late Night Writing, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, POV Second Person, Robots, Space zombies, Spaceships, Zombies, terrible, unedited, who cares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 23:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11542632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dweeblet/pseuds/dweeblet
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, you aren't a robot. Maybe the Tenno isn't a monster.(Read: one of the few non-porn WF fics! yay!)





	Keepsake

**Author's Note:**

> warning: this is garbage. i kind of said "fuck it" to canon so this is probably wrong but i couldnt get the idea outta my head so here we are
> 
> cw: violence/gore

You don’t get too much in the way of gossip: you’re a nameless, faceless crewman in a sea of similar bodies that pick away at the Europan crash site. The overseeing techs don’t let you talk too much, either.

 

Life goes on, you suppose. Pointlessly, monotonously, but go on it does. There’s not much use in complaining, really. You don’t hate your job. Sometimes you can even find a rhythm in the clanking of metal on metal and the whirring of machinery, the chittering of MOAs and the low distant thrumming of the next drop-ship’s engines. Europa has a milky blue skyline that lights up with bands of green and white from the nearby Void, and every now and then you’ll take late salvage shifts just to watch it.

 

Things could certainly be worse, even if you privately think your uniform helmet looks stupid. Or that the next time that Guy (whose name you don’t know and whose face you’ve never seen) talks about how much he idolizes Alad V and his technological advances you’re going to have to swipe a prova baton and tase him because  _ you got it the first time and you’re tired of hearing it, dammit _ . 

 

At least you only run into him sometimes, because he keeps picking at the same chunk of obelisk that everyone knows is clean and done with, while you keep on rotating to recover fresh supplies. There is really no reason for you to keep coming back and passing him, but his idiot ramblings have become part of your routine now. And maybe a part of you would feel bad about leaving him all alone.

 

Maybe.

 

But then again, you wouldn’t quite call him a ‘friend’ - you don’t even know his name - but he is most certainly your best supplier when it comes to current events. You’re almost certain that he was just so annoying that the nearest tech removed radio restrictions in his quarters, just to keep him busy and out of their hair. He knows lots of things that you don’t regarding offplanet politics and military activity, and he likes to flaunt his knowledge, too.

 

You’ve heard some scary things about the Tenno, the original betrayers. A squad of only four of their agents utterly decimated an entire crew of recovery workers and soldiers at Iliad on Phobos, or so says the grapevine. Some say that they are unkillable.

 

Almost no one has seen one and lived to tell the tale- you certainly haven’t seen one, not in real life. There was a brief stint of talk last orbital cycle about a Tenno operative hacking into data vaults at the Valac ship orbiting Jupiter’s snowy moon. Reports claim it was seven feet tall with a leathery grey body, long arms covered in patina-streaked copper plating like scales, and a round, faceless head the color of bone. It sounds a little unreal to you, in all honesty.

 

The alleged Tenno had been spotted by several nameless crewman who had been smart enough not to attack on sight, and instead chose to cower behind control consoles until it got what it came for and passed them by. It is said to have indiscriminately slaughtered every crewman in its path on the way out, and only in the aftermath of the carnage did the higher-ups discover that they were missing valuable data. It bypassed scores of crewman, security proxies, locked doors, scanners, turrets, and cameras without even a trace: that scares you more than anything, enough to keep you looking over your shoulder for several sleep cycles to come after first hearing the story.

 

But the fear fades easily enough. A bout of Infestation has broken out someplace towards the Europan south, in an abandoned Grineer orbiter that’s crashed into a cave. A small team of crewman and robots is being collected to accompany a hired Tenno to clear out the infection before it can spread- the enemy of your enemy is your friend, you suppose. The Tenno don’t seem to harbor any real hatred towards your people anyway: only when you get in their way.

 

Which is to say, quite often. Corpus leaders are merchants first and foremost, and profit trumps all, including Tenno morals and half-baked peace treaties.

 

You volunteer for the team, if only to see a little excitement in your pointless, routine life. It’s really mostly for kicks, just to get the Guy whose name you don’t know and whose face you’ve never seen to shut up about it. Miserably, you’re sure that the universe is testing you for something when you’re actually picked to go.

 

The miniature squad, something close to five other crewman and twice as many mixed war machines, including MOAs and Osprey drones, loads up in a standard drop-ship. You feel a little ill at the high altitude, pressed close against your crewmates and the stink of oil and superheated metal that the railguns make filling your helmet, but that passes just fine. You’re glad to be back on solid ground when you land at the fallen orbiter.

 

At the entrance to the wreckage your commanding officer thrusts a dera laser rifle into your arms. The gun has long twin barrels on top of one another for alternating automatic fire, and a thin portrait of only a few inches. It is blocky and utilitarian in design, with lots of hard metal edges and squared off points. You’re just lucky that your protective suit and gloves are made of thick synthetic material, so you suffer no real discomfort when it’s shoved into your grip.

 

You rub down the barrel, fiddling with the ammo drum with your clumsy gloved fingers as you wait. Against the milky skyline you can see the triangular silhouette of a Liset model Tenno landing craft. Its plasma engines roar and throw up snow as it banks over the ice fields, slowing in lazy spirals until it’s burned off enough speed to hover above the crashed Grineer orbiter.

 

The Tenno agent that drops from the Liset doesn’t look like the one the Guy had described, but you know there are many different kinds of creatures that their leader opts to hire. 

 

This one is certainly huge in size, towering at least two heads over every other crewman. They are colored in shades of sleek blue and white that spin in old runic shapes along their skeletal chassis, which is wrapped tightly in linens. Their forearms and legs are also bound, and torn banners of cloth hang against their- perhaps  _ his _ ?- broad shoulders and outer thighs. A split syandana is draped over his shoulders, colored in shades of fiery amber to match the glowing yellow vents along the chassis.

 

He pads on silent paw-like feet over to your commanding officer, following his motions with an unnerving faceless head. It has a boxy protrusion not unlike a snout, and the top back of his head has two antennae-like extensions that resemble the ears of a Kubrow- you think he might be trying to imitate the feral earthling animals. 

 

The Tenno does not speak, but nods placidly at the Corpus tech’s nervous orders. He puts one wrapped hand against the base of one of his long ears, nodding again. You can hear foreign words drifting through the Tenno’s comm link, and it strikes you from your oblivious entitlement that not everyone in the system actually speaks your language.

 

“Wow,” you can’t help but breathe, and the Tenno looks at you curiously. At least, you think he does. He swivels his canine head in your general direction and tips it from side to side, but without any discernible facial features you can’t really tell what exactly he’s looking at. He still does not speak, but gives a little wave that seems almost shy, shifting from paw to paw in place.

 

At that he turns and pulls a set of twin toxocyst pistols from their thigh-mounted holsters, checking each one before cocking and readying the guns. With a soft, almost inaudible humming sound, he waves to your squad to move out, and you follow him into the wreckage.

 

The Infested hordes descend almost immediately in a swarm of writhing bodies and fungal protrusions. You fire off several rounds with your dera, cleaving one leaper clean in half with the laser beam. With expert finesse, the Tenno agent weaves between chargers and runners with his lithe body, twisting to blow venomous bullets right through their brains. He leaps and feints like he’s made of water, ducking fluidly between frothing mouths and swiping claws only to fire off more rounds and kill the attackers before they even hit the ground. 

 

When the pistol ammo runs out, he repeats the process with a sleek prime model Paris bow. One sharp-tipped kinetic arrow is nocked and drawn back, then suddenly it flies through an entire line of Infested beasts before you can even reload your rifle. The Tenno slings the bow back over his shoulder before taking advantage of the lull to attend to his pistols, and then you all move out all over again, watching in awe as the Tenno fells wave after wave of parasitic beasts, never stopping or tiring.

 

Slowly but surely you begin to push the Infested horde back, and it only reoccurs to you how stupid your people are to continually oppose such a ridiculously powerful force.

 

You all fight your way through the ship’s ruined deck, passing over unrecognizable segments and the remnants of what might have once been the engine block. Soon the twisted Grineer metal gives way to jagged black rocks: they rise in converging spires and stalactites of cold dark stone from the ground. Infested chargers groan and chitter as they plod over the sooty floor of the cavern, oblivious to the squadron waiting just above in the protruding crash site’s hull. 

 

With that wicked Orokin bow drawn against his chest, the Tenno creeps up along the wall to hang from the ceiling. He is balanced precariously between two fang-like stalactites, paw-feet braced against the stone and back pressed to the slimy wall. Your stomach is doing flips at the sight of his parlous perch, and you feel your hands sweating into your gloves. 

 

He draws the bow soundlessly, and with frightening accuracy it picks off the vast majority of runners and leapers that shamble down below. You can’t help but feel terrifically frightened at that: the Tenno could turn this entire squad into a red smear on the floor if he really wanted to.

 

Mercifully, he doesn’t, and drops quietly back down to the Grineer hull where you and your crewmates wait for the signal to go. He nods and waves at your commanding officer, a tech in a bulky orange suit, and beckons for you all to come along.

 

The groans and squeals of the Infested are almost deafening, echoing into the damp cavern silence from within the twisted belly of the orbiter. You squeeze yourself a little closer to your crewmates after that, drinking in the reassurance of an arm pressed against yours in the dark.

 

Bone-chilling screeches erupt from the shadows, and everyone stops in their tracks. Even the Tenno stiffens in place, tensing. The interpreter, a crewman in grey wielding a detron pistol, asks a clumsy, “What’s wrong?” in the Tenno’s native tongue.

 

A low, raspy voice comes from the Tenno in reply, gliding easily over the melody of those strange foreign sounds. His tone sounds firm and confident with only a marginal undercurrent of surprise, and, stupidly, that makes you feel a little safer.

 

The interpreter passes the message on to you and the rest of the squad: “There is a powerful Infested beast here called Phorid. The Tenno lost a spy cell to it not long ago.”

 

Oh, dear.

 

The Tenno nods and takes the polearm from his back. You realize with some stifled horror that it is derived from Infestation, with chitinous jaw-blades on its leading end held together by thick strings of repurposed sinew. The bladed staff is longer than you are tall, but the Tenno warrior carries it with practiced grace.

 

He waves for your squad to move forward, even as you cower back from the distant screeching. The interpreter seems to somewhat relax as the Tenno passes on another instruction, and wearily translates for you and the others that you ought to hold off the regular Infested while the agent takes care of the rest.

 

You suppose you should be grateful for that small mercy, but your heart just pounds away, and your hands shake as you squeeze your rifle tight. The Tenno bunches his legs beneath him and pushes off. He leaps between pillars and over corroded rails in an awesome display of agility, lopping off heads and vaulting over stray Infested with its staff all the while.

 

With the path ahead clear, your squad rallies and surges forward into the cavern.

 

Phorid is built like the quadrupedal chargers whose corpses are now pinned to the floor with arrows, but it is much bigger: at least twice as tall and two times as wide. It is a twisted amalgamation of deformed Grineer bodies, all held together by pulsating strands of Infested fungus. The bioorganic growth has completely overtaken each and every corpse, leaving empty visors to loll like broken necks, like silent screaming faces waiting to burst from Phorid’s spiny red back. It makes you feel sick in knowing that that could be you.

 

It screeches something that the Tenno seems to understand, because he chitters back in its native language. You think his tone is mocking, but you can’t allow yourself to become distracted.

 

You swing your rifle around, whipping one unwary leaper in the head with the butt of the gun as it approaches you. You flip your weapon back up and shoot clean through the slit in its helmet, and the zombie drops dead on the stone.

 

Out of the corner of your eye you can see the Tenno flip and leap between Phorid’s increasingly agitated strikes, and as the herd of Infested beasts begins to thin you can afford to step back and spectate.

 

The Tenno feints back, pretending to stumble, and uses the opening from the monster’s reckless lunge to vault over and slash its flank, severing a good chunk of synthetic muscle. The bioorganic tubes of fungus writh and spurt as they’re separated from the main body, before going limp and falling off, leaving Phorid crippled.

 

Without missing a beat, the agent takes advantage of the Infested beast’s limited mobility to dive between its forelegs, slicing a clean line all the way down its underbelly as he slides across the stone.

 

He rolls to a stop, skidding against one pillar and jumping like a bullet up to the top, clinging there like a spider as he knocks his bow and prepares to shoot.

 

Phorid screeches and shoots off venomous spines from its back. The Tenno spins his bow, attempting to block the strike with the weapon’s limbs, but that doesn’t stop a poison quill from burying itself in his right thigh.

 

The Tenno cries out and drops his bow, gripping the barbed spine impaled in his leg. He yanks it out with a short yelp, turning the pointed end on Phorid.

 

With a desperate battle cry, the Tenno drops from the ceiling, spine gripped in both hands, and drives it like a nail down into Phorid’s head.

 

He stumbles back, rolling awkwardly to keep weight off of his wounded leg, and presses his body behind a rock to avoid the beast’s thrashing.

 

You aim your dera and throw some fire into Phorid’s leg wound, just for good measure, and with one last earsplitting shriek the creature collapses, curling in on itself like a dead insect before going still.

 

You gag a little in disgust as its body starts to dissolve, melting into a puddle of black and orange ichor on the dark grey floor.

 

The Tenno makes a clear ‘that was a close one’ sort of whistle, leaning back against the rock and sighing in relief. He lays there, staying still, and calls out in his native tongue to your group’s interpreter, who translates the “all clear to move out,” and begins organizing the squad. You make to head off with them, but something stops you before you can go far.

 

A glint of something shiny and golden against the slate-like floor catches your eye. You drop down carefully from your spot on the ridge just beneath the hull, stumbling on the rocks and stepping awkwardly over Infested corpses to reach it.

 

Once you crouch down and scatter some of the pebbles sprayed up during the fight, you find the Tenno’s wicked Orokin bow, and one arrow that had been knocked, on the ground. He dropped it during the fight, when Phorid had poisoned him.

 

For only a moment you hesitate, then pick up the weapon and turn to the Tenno as he eases to his feet, still clearly favoring his left leg. You shuffle nervously up, holding out the bow on open palms for him to take. Part of you wonders if he’ll just kill you now that his mission is done.

 

He doesn’t crush you like a bug, though, and instead chitters pleasantly. He makes a sort of cooing sound, offering a nod and a shallow bow as thanks. The Tenno takes the bow from you, and you shiver a little bit at having those massive hands, hot to the touch, brush against your gloves.

 

The Tenno carefully slings his bow over his back, nodding again and patting you gently on the shoulder. You begin to withdraw as the Tenno turns away, but notice that there is still that foreign golden-tipped arrow in your hands.

 

He has already started walking away, and you jog up behind him, mumbling nervously to get his attention. He doesn’t seem to notice, so out of some panicky desperation you tug at one of his looser linens.

 

You shake in place as the Tenno turns around, fearful that you’ve angered him. Despite your fear, you present him with the arrow, shuffling awkwardly in place.

 

The Tenno creature makes a questioning series of noises like “ _ wahta-māghta”   _ at you, tipping his head. With a low coo he seems to realize what you’re trying to do, and places one huge paw-hand over yours, kneeling to be down at your level.

 

“ _ K _ ī _ ’pit _ ,” he tells you, bobbing his head encouragingly. “You keep,” he says clumsily in your tongue, pushing your clasped hands back against you. His face holds no expression, but you can’t help but feel that he’s smiling.

 

“ _ K _ ī _ ’pit _ ,” you echo, doubly awkward, and close your fingers around the arrow shaft.

 

At that the Tenno nods, seeming satisfied, and makes a sound like laughter, and ushers you to join your squadmates. You wave pleasantly over your shoulder, and he waves back. He trails reassuringly behind your squad as you all march back to the outside and begin loading up onto the dropship to return to your usual stations. 

 

The Liset ship from before returns, engines thrumming overhead, and picks up the Tenno agent. You can’t help but squeeze the arrow as he leaves, and the ship becomes nothing but a yellow speck in the black sky. You won’t be allowed to take the arrow with you, and you don’t think you can sneak the whole thing back to the ship without anyone noticing.

 

But you do know what you  _ can  _ do, so you with only minimal fiddling you pop the head off of the arrow, shining blue and gold, and squeeze it tight in the palm of your hand. No one bats an eye as you carry it with you; on the ship, at the landing pad, and into your quarters.

 

You cut a chain and clip the arrowhead to it, draping the makeshift necklace around your neck back in your room.

 

You can’t wait to show that Guy at the obelisk whose face you’ve never seen and whose name you’ve never heard. Maybe learn that name of his, come to think of it. Give him a nickname, too. Maybe sneak off and join a splinter. Cephalon Suda seems nice enough, but how much trouble you’d be in for deserting. 

 

Yes, you think. An awful lot of trouble.

 

It almost sounds like fun.


End file.
